


The Rose That Grew From Duracrete

by Jaina_Pridemoore



Series: Lady Skywalker [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BAMF Padmé Amidala, Gen, Pre-Femslash, Secrets, Slavery, Trans Anakin Skywalker, Trans Female Character, VERY pre-femslash, fateful conversation, policies of the Jedi Order, post-TPM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaina_Pridemoore/pseuds/Jaina_Pridemoore
Summary: “You’re a funny little boy,” she said, and ‘How do you know so much?’ was on the tip of her tongue— but something had just changed in the child's expression.It was subtle— just the briefest pursing of the lips and the sort of shift in his gaze that was always so hard to describe or quantify, there one second and gone the next.He was, she realized, better at controlling his reactions than many of the career politicians she’d met… and was watching her expression as closely as she was watching his. Then an unusually determined look crossed the child’s face, and he said:“I’m not a boy.”*OR: An overwhelmed queen and a grieving Jedi, both sleepless in the aftermath of war, have a conversation that will change the fate of the galaxy.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Lady Skywalker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866778
Comments: 12
Kudos: 146





	The Rose That Grew From Duracrete

Adrenaline was a funny thing.

It made everything so clear in the moment, only to leave it blurred in hindsight. Escaping from the palace as killing machines rained from the sky, gripping her seat praying for the ship’s shields to hold, watching little Ani fly that screaming death trap through the desert, standing before the thousand judgemental eyes of the Senate, shooting their way back into the palace—

Padmé remembered certain details so vividly, and others not at all. Like it had all happened to someone else entirely.

The lulls between, though— those she recalled perfectly. The long hours in hyperspace, the calm before battle, the trek into that horrible spaceport…

Being mistaken for an angel.

She smiled.

Before her Theed was aglow with thousands of lanterns, the scars of the invasion and occupation hidden by the night. A cool breeze blew over the balcony, carrying hints of that swampy-sweet Gungan incense… and yet she could almost feel the sweltering heat of Mos Eisley, could almost smell the dust, engine grease, and burnt circuitry of Watto’s shop, and Anakin might as well have been sitting right there on the rail, looking at her with those big blue eyes while blowing a Lucrehulk-sized hole in her understanding of the Republic.

_“What?”_ She’d asked.

_“An angel,” the child said matter-of-factly, still tinkering with… whatever that was. “I heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They’re the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of… Iego, I think.”_

_Perhaps if the past few days hadn’t been what they were, she would have found the comment stranger than she did. As it was, she was just relieved to have a conversation that wasn’t fraught with tension and responsibiity._

_That relief_ — _and the child’s general adorable-ness— brought an easy smile to her face._

_“You’re a funny little boy,” she said, and ‘How do you know so much’ was on the tip of her tongue— but something had just changed in the boy’s expression._

_It was subtle— just the briefest pursing of the lips and the sort of change in his gaze that was always so hard to describe or quantify, there one second and gone the next._

_Had the Junior Legislature not taught her to pay such close attention to such tiny cues, she would have missed it entirely._

_He was, she realized, better at controlling his reactions than many of the career politicians she’d met… and was watching her expression as closely as she was watching his._

_She kicked herself mentally, wishing she’d somehow had the foresight to research the etiquette of more than just Chommel Sector or the Core—_

_And then an unusually **determined** crossed the child’s face, and he said: _

_“I’m not a boy.”_

_Oh._

_Oh dear._

_“A... funny little girl, then?”_

_That look went from determined to wary and searching, almost piercing in its focus—_

_The child shrugged, but their eyes said yes._

_**Her** eyes, then. _

_“I’m sorry,” Padmé offered, “I shouldn’t have assumed.’_

_She seemed confused by that. “Why not?”_

_“Well, it was rude of me. On my homeworld, people show their gender with the clothes they choose to wear.”_

_“Oh,” said the girl, clearly not understanding. “Where are you from?”_

_And there Padmé hesitated._

_She— was actually surprised at how much she **wanted** to trust this girl, but if the wrong person overheard, with the price on her head… _

_“It’s okay. I’m good at keeping secrets.”_

_That too gave her pause, though… more because she was used to hearing such things said in teasing tones, with charming smiles, and the girl had said it so matter-of-factly._

_Padmé smiled for both of them, if only for the sake of her own nerves._

_“Oh really?”_

_Another nod. More tinkering. “Nobody else knows I’m a girl. Just my mom.”_

_That… made her uneasy._

_“Then why did you tell me?”_

_“‘cuz you’re a good person.” The girl made eye contact again, and with the confidence of someone stating scientific fact, said:_ _“You help people.”_

_Padmé… didn’t know what to say to that._

_“Well,” she said, “I guess I can tell you, if you promise to keep it a secret.”_

_A third nod, this time slower, more deliberate— and for the first time, the girl’s grease-stained hands went still around the piece of machinery she was holding._

_“Til my blood waters the sand.”_

_It had the sound of tradition. Of ritual._

_Like any good diplomat, Padmé suppressed the shiver it caused._

_“I’m from Naboo," she said._

_The girl’s eyes lit up. “The water planet?”_

_“There is a lot of water, yes. Jar Jar over there is actually a Gungan.”_

_“Wizard,” she whispered. Then she frowned. “Why would you leave a place like that?”_

_Again Padmé paused. Weighed the risk. Glanced around the shop to make sure there was no one to overhear. She saw no one, but…_

_“It’s okay,” said the girl, once more fiddling with the device in her hands. “I wouldn’t tell me either.”_

_Again with the matter-of-factness. Not a hint of self-consciousness or shame to it._

_Padmé had never been so concerned and so **intrigued** at the same time. _

_“What about you?” she asked. “Where are you from?”_

_That got a hint of a smile, and a proud look. “I was born in hyperspace. But I’ve been here since I was… three, I think? Cuz me an’mom got sold to Gardulla.”_

_For a moment, Padmé thought she must have misheard... but once again, the girl was watching her reaction closely._

_Her heart dropped into her stomach._

_“You’re a slave?”_

_And then the girl was glaring._

_“I’m a_ **_person_ ** _, and my name is Anakin!”_

Padmé hoped she was doing alright. Going from Theed to Coruscant was a lot, and Padmé been _trained_ to keep a level head; to go from a hovel in a desert to a palace on the water…

She had been too busy coordinating the liberation and relief efforts to be there when the palace surgeons removed that monstrous device from Anakin’s leg, but she had read their report.

The poor girl had been terrified. Had refused to be sedated. It was only thanks to Saché’s barely-passable Huttese that they managed to convince her to accept local anesthesia.

Padmé realized she’d been rubbing the necklace Ani gave her. Passing her thumb back and forth over the symbol carved into it.

Another thing to research. When she got the time. Which, if today was any indication, would be several years down the road.

_I carved it out of a Japor snippet,_ Ani had said. _So you’ll remember me._

Padmé angled it up to admire in the lantern light, and smiled to herself. 

_As if I could ever forget._

Dormé had already overheard some of the pilots discussing a petition to build a statue of the girl.

Padmé's smile waned as she realized such a statue might very well have the wrong pronouns on its plaque.

Another cool breeze ghosted over the balcony, tugging softly at her dress and sending a shiver up her neck.

Anakin still hadn’t told the Jedi. Had stood by, quiet and obedient, as both Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi repeatedly _misgendered_ her.

Why?

She’d told Padmé on a… no, _whim_ wasn’t the right word. Padmé wasn’t sure what the right word was for Anakin’s moments of uncanny clarity.

But _You help people—_ that was the reason she’d given. And she seemed to _idolize_ the Jedi, or at least the romanticized story-book version of them that had filtered out to Tatooine. Qui-Gon might have resorted to… _questionable_ methods to free her, but he had also deactivated her transmitter almost immediately. Surely he’d demonstrated that he wasn’t _that_ kind of Master.

Hadn’t he?

_Nobody else knows I’m a girl,_ she’d said. _Just my mom._

Which meant she didn't _trust_ anyone else to know. 

Padmé could have slapped herself.

Of _course_ Anakin hadn’t told them _._ What were a few days of freedom, against nine years of bondage? _Formative_ years, where every authority figure was a source of fear and pain?

A cold weight settled in Padmé’s gut.

Exactly how much danger had they left Shmi in?

Goddess, Anakin must be worried _sick!_

Come to think of it, what were the Jedi’s plans for freeing Shmi? Surely she’d be perfectly justified in inquiring, given what Anakin had done for Naboo...

Padmé turned on her heel and swept back inside, through her bedroom and into the lounge.

“My Lady.” Sabé, perched on a plush chair in the corner, looked up from her datapad. “Can’t sleep?”

“Too much to think about. I’m going to just… wander around for a bit.”

Sabé stood and followed her out into the corridor that connected the royal apartments to the throne room. The marble floor was all the paler in the moonlight, and the blaster-burns that marred it all the darker. Thankfully bloodstains cleaned up easier than plasma scoring. Knowledge of where the bodies had lain, however…

“Perhaps the gardens, My Lady?”

She gave a jerky nod, and let her handmaiden take the lead.

The hallway outside was worse. Cold air whistled through blown-out windows. She could tell which columns had been used as cover by the black streaks and chunks missing.

The gardens, at least, had been spared— if only by dint of their positioning. On the side not enclosed by high walls they overlooked the Great Falls, a sheer drop which had ruled them out as a point of ingress for both the droid army and the RSF. No scorch marks, no craters or cracks, not even the uniform footprints left by heavy metal treads...

It was easier to breathe, here.

Padmé stopped at the edge of the garden to do so, and found herself comforted by the soft rustling of all the leaves and flowers and fronds.

She had barely taken a step when Sabé swept in front of her, one hand on the pistol holstered on her hip.

Padmé scrambled for her own sidearm— only to realize she’d left it in her apartment.

Her heart _thudded_ against her ribs.

Sabé darted forward, staying low and close to the tree-trunks, and Padmé followed— she might not have a weapon, but straying from her protector was never a good—

Sabé stopped. Straightened up. Holstered her pistol.

A figure stood on the balcony at the garden’s edge, hands clasped behind their back, wearing familiar robes.

Ah.

Padmé gave her attire a cursory glance, judged it appropriate, if informal, and took a brief moment to sink back into _Amidala._

“Padawan Kenobi,” she said.

It was subtle, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it— but he definitely _tensed._

Which… weren’t Jedi supposed to be able to sense those around them?

He turned before she could contemplate it, chin up and shoulders back, and executed a stately bow. “Your Majesty. I did not mean to intrude upon your solitude.”

“Nor I upon yours, Master Jedi.”

Another flinch— well-hidden, but visible to anyone with court training.

Padmé felt like a complete fool.

The man was _grieving_ , and intentionally or not, she’d just shoved it in his face.

But he had already recovered from the reminder— or at least masked the hurt it caused. “It is no intrusion whatsoever, My Lady. I am here to serve the Naboo, and am honored by your company.”

Padmé had heard more emotion in the voices of battle droids… and in the moonlight, she could see his gaze was just as flat and dull.

She’d seen that look too many times in the last several days. On too many faces.

He stepped smoothly aside as she approached the rail of the balcony, leaving exactly six feet between them. She rested her hands on the stone, and gazed down at the moonlit falls.

From this side of the palace, there was no sign of the devastation that scarred the city.

Now if only she could erase the memory of blasterfire and burning flesh.

“I have received a response from Jedi Council,” said Kenobi. “They will soon be en route to Naboo, along with the Chancellor. I’d planned to inform Your Majesty in the morning.”

“I look forward to their arrival." Padmé chose not to point out that it _was_ technically morning. She didn’t know if he’d meant _dawn,_ or if he had lost track of time. The dark bags under his eyes suggested the latter was entirely possible— but then again, her knowledge of Jedi behavior was sorely lacking.

Speaking of which…

“Perhaps they will deign to satisfy our curiosity as to the ways of your Order.”

Kenobi glanced up from the view. “I can answer any questions you or your people might have, My Lady.”

Interesting. Was that mere courtesy, or did he mean to discourage her from pestering his superiors?

She considered what she wanted to know, and how to solicit that information without negatively effecting the relationship between her administration and the Jedi Order.

She could technically request information about future Jedi operations that didn’t necessarily concern Naboo, but Kenobi was by no means obligated to disclose anything. Policy, however…

“We have perceived a discrepancy,” she ventured, “or at least the _appearance_ of one, between certain aspects of your Order’s reputation and material conditions on the edge of Republic.”

“The Order’s reputation is as varied as the worlds to which it has spread, Your Majesty. May I ask which aspects you refer to?”

Padmé suppressed a frown. She thought she’d been fairly direct, if only by the standards of the Court. “The dismantlement of the Zygerrian Empire, to start.”

“The Jedi Order did indeed play a significant role in that, yes.”

Why was he being so obtuse about this?

“Then I must wonder," she said carefully, "if it is the policies of the Order which have since changed, or its ability to pursue similar ventures in the present day.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then: “Both the internal structure of the Order and the material conditions of the Republic have undergone many changes since the days of the Old Republic. It is fortunate that the Council will soon be here; they will be much better equipped to answer such complex questions to your Majesty’s satisfaction than a junior member who has yet to complete his apprenticeship.”

Ah. He didn’t want to accidentally say anything that might cast his people in a negative light. Understandable.

Also frustrating.

“It does seem a rare and precious opportunity,” she said. “Though I hesitate to even _consider_ inconveniencing the Councilors with my simpler questions." 

Kenobi bowed his head ever-so-slightly. “Then I will endeavor to answer those queries to the best of my ability.”

He sounded so _tired_. Did _she_ sound that tired?

She considered, briefly, dismissing him for the night. But with sunrise would come a swarm of responsibilities; she needed to take this opportunity to assuage her concerns over Ani & Shmi's wellbeing. 

“It is my understanding that Jedi are raised in the Temple from infancy,” she said.

“The vast majority are.”

“But not all?”

“There are some exceptions. Anakin will be one such exception.”

“May I inquire as to the protocols governing such exceptions?”

“You may. The Jedi Order does not typically take in children over the age of five.”

Padmé blinked. Her first impulse was to ask after all the other children like Anakin, who simply lived beyond the Order’s reach… but she had a goal for this line of questioning, and that wasn’t it. “When you say ’typically’…”

“Anakin will be the first child over six to be accepted into the Order in centuries.”

What? “That’s wonderful, but… if I may, why is the Order willing to make such an exception for—“ _her?_ “—him?”

Oh, she didn’t like saying that. She didn’t like it at all.

Why hadn’t Ani _told_ them yet?

“The Force is exceedingly strong with him,” said Kenobi, and Padmé had to fight to keep the discomfort off her face.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”

“Forgive me.” He ducked his head. “In this case, it is a… rough measure of his potential power, once trained.”

_Power?_

That… didn’t really answer her question, but further explanation would only take them on a tangent. Her priority was Ani’s wellbeing, not how much Ani might be able to lift with her mind someday.

Did the Jedi... not _share_ that priority? 

A cold feeling settled in her chest.

“Am I to understand it as a matter of pragmatism, then?”

Kenobi hesitated again, but didn’t let anything show on his face. “The Order strives to balance pragmatism with moral rightness in all we do. With proper training, Anakin will become a powerful Jedi. _Without_ the Order's protection, he might be in grave danger." 

"...I must ask you to elucidate, Sir."

Another pause. "As far as anyone knew, Anakin was just a child with unusual reflexes and a talent for mechanics. And to control that child, the masters of Tatooine were willing to implant him with a bomb. Imagine what they might do if they knew he could potentially feel the emotions of others, sense deceit and impending danger, and even influence the minds of those around him."

Oh.

"I would rather not," Padmé said weakly.

Kenobi bowed his head in agreement. 

She just... absorbed that, for a bit. But then it gave rise to another question: "Surely Anakin is not the only child above the Order's age of admittance in such danger." 

"No. Unfortunately not." 

"And yet—" _she_ "—he is to be an exception, and they are not."

"Forgive me for not explaining earlier, Your Majesty; many such children are, unfortunately, beyond the Order's reach— but when we do find them, it is our policy to relocate them to safer environments." 

"Then it is—" _her, her, **her**_ "—his potential _power_ that makes the difference." 

Damn. She hadn't meant to say that so coldly. 

The pause was longer, this time. Kenobi's hand twitched on the stone of the railing... but otherwise, he was perfectly still. 

"The creature that killed Master Jinn was Force-sensitive." 

Oh. 

That explained the hesitation. 

Padmé swallowed dryly. "I had wondered." 

"It was well-trained to wield that sensitivity for violent ends." 

"You..." her heart thudded heavily in her chest. "You don't know who trained it." 

The Jedi's expression was tight. He didn't confirm or deny. He didn't have to. 

And if they didn't know who was responsible, they couldn't _stop_ them. 

Padmé had only caught a brief glimpse of the assassin— but the thought of little Ani with that vicious, _murderous_ intent in her eyes... 

"I see." 

Neither of them spoke for a while after that. 

"It..." she wet her lips. "It is fortunate, then, that such an exception can be made for Anakin."

"Indeed, Your Majesty." 

"I am, of course, still concerned." 

"I will do what I can to address your concerns." 

"You say the vast majority of Jedi are raised as such from infancy." She turned toward him, one hand still resting on the cool stone. "It stands to reason, then, that the Order's methods of—" _parenting_ probably wasn't the right word— "child-rearing and education are designed with those children in mind. I worry that those methods may not be well-suited to a child of Anakin's background." 

Kenobi blinked. "That... is a valid concern, Your Majesty." 

Good. "Anakin Skywalker has done this planet a great service. We would be remiss not to do what we can to ensure his wellbeing." 

"Of course." He tapped one finger on the railing. "There are many Jedi who have experiencing aiding those of similar background to Anakin. Rest assured that I will call upon them for guidance concerning his training."

It was Padmé who paused, then. 

_I,_ he said. Not _we._

"You intend to train Anakin personally, then."

"I do, My Lady."

She considered that for a moment. Padawan meant _apprentice,_ he'd told her so only moments ago— and he'd admitted to not having _finished_ that apprenticeship. Did he have some assurance that the Council intended to promote him, then? And if so, why? Surely the death of his mentor wasn't sufficient reason. Victory over the assassin, then? 

"It was Master Jinn's dying wish that I train the boy." 

**_Girl,_** Padmé's mind insisted, even as the implications of that statement washed over her like a cold wave. 

Obligated. Kenobi intended to train the boy out of _obligation_ born of _grief._

How could Master Jinn put such a monumental responsibility on such a young man?

 _The same way,_ her mind supplied, _as he gambled all our fates on a bloodsport._

Dear Shirayya. 

This was... she didn't like this. Not one bit. 

And she couldn't very well criticize the man's recklessness to his grieving student. 

"How..." kriff, her throat was dry. "May I inquire as to how you intend to manage Anakin's transition into the Jedi Order?"

"I intend to manage it very carefully, Your Majesty, and with the concerns you have raised in mind." He lifted his hands off the railing, and clasped them behind him once more. Padmé wasn't sure what to read in that. "It is true, there are some fundamental tenets of our Order he will have to be... brought up to speed on, but I have faith he will rise to the challenge." 

"Anakin _is_ a very clever child." She turned back to the view before them. "I must admit to great curiosity about the tenets of your Order. The upbringing of a Jedi must be very different from that of a civilian." 

Kenobi cast a sidelong glance her way. "I assure you, My Lady, he will be looked after." 

_But will she be **cared for?** _

"Anakin Skywalker is a hero of Naboo, Padawan Kenobi. I must do what I can to ensure his wellbeing. As he is to be a ward of your Order, I must seek assurance in information." 

"Of course, My Lady." A slight bow. "There are a great many lessons a Jedi must learn, but given Anakin's background, I intend to emphasize the importance of emotional control and non-attachment."

 _Non-attachment?_ "I must, once more, request that you elucidate." 

"A Jedi's duty is to the Republic. We must avoid becoming emotionally attached to any one individual within it, lest that attachment compel us to put the one before the many."

That... made sense as an _ideal,_ but... "Anakin is already attached to his—" **_her_** "—mother, Padawan Kenobi. It seems a bit late for avoidance." 

"I agree. He must be trained to let go of his past." 

...hold on. 

"But... surely you will facilitate contact between him and his mother." Padmé knew she was slipping into informality, but this— didn't _feel_ right. 

"That is not the Jedi way, Your Majesty." 

_What?_

Padmé forced her hands not to clench. 

"Master Jedi," she said coldly, "am I to understand that it is the intention of your Order to completely separate Anakin Skywalker from his mother?" 

That... seemed to catch him off-guard. "They have already separated. It is for the best."

"Am I to understand," she repeated, "that you expect a traumatized nine-year-old who has grown up seeing authority figures as a source of pain and suffering to somehow achieve _emotional control_ while believing his mother is still at the mercy of people willing to put _bombs_ in _children?"_

"I—" Kenobi's eyes widened, "that is— I will of _course_ inform him if the Order can liberate her." 

Padmé's thoughts ground to a halt. 

_"...If?"_

"It— is beyond my control, Your Majesty, and you must understand— there are only so many Jedi to go around, and the Republic is very large—"

"She is _one woman._ Is her freedom and wellbeing of no importance to your Order simply because she lacks fantastic powers?" 

"That isn't— for the safety of all those involved, I cannot disclose information pertaining to potentially sensitive operations that the Order may or may not—"

"I believe," said Sabé, from her spot near the ferns, "that Her Majesty asked you a question, Master Jedi." 

Kenobi froze up, eyes darting between the two. 

Padmé pressed the attack. "Do you? Do you honestly expect Anakin to somehow become _well-adjusted_ under such circumstances? Do you honestly expect her to see you as anything but yet another _Master_ who has callously separated her from the only support system she has _ever known?"_

Silence. Wind rustling through the leaves. Water crashing far below. 

Kenobi was staring, a crease between his brows and confusion in his tired eyes, which only stoked the flame of Padmé indignation— was he really so _oblivious_ to the emotions of the average—

_"Her?"_

Oh. 

Oh no. 

"I..." Padmé wracked her brain for some way to explain without further betraying Ani's trust, to talk her way out of this, but... 

Kark. 

She closed her eyes. Breathed deep. 

_Kark._

_Goddess forgive me._

"Yes," she said, not looking at the Jedi. "She. Anakin is a girl. She confided in me in Mos Espa. I can only assume that her... _reluctance_ to tell anyone else is a matter of the relationship with authority figures which I... indelicately described." 

"That... would make sense."

"Please," she turned to him, forgoing all formality— "Stress and— and sleep deprivation are no excuse. I have betrayed her trust, but you— you must not pressure her. If I'm right, and it's an issue of trust..."

Kenobi nodded, looking completely overwhelmed. "She will tell me when she feels safe to do so." 

"Yes. Hopefully."

"Then... I will do my best to help her. Feel safe." He ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair. "As for her mother, I... Your Majesty, I believe the Council means to Knight me, but I am still a Padawan, and they will surely insist on an extensive debrief, as well as sessions with a mind-healer— and afterwards I will be busy training Anakin..." 

"It's out of your hands." 

He avoided eye contact. "It is."

Padmé considered him. The bags under his eyes, the emptiness in them, the slump of his shoulders... 

This man was going to be responsible for a child. An intelligent, unpredictable, deeply _traumatized_ child. 

He was going to need all the help he could get. 

And even if that hadn't been the case... 

Padmé was... almost _relieved._ Rarely, in politics, was the right thing to do so brutally clear. 

"I believe we both need our rest, Padawan Kenobi. I trust you will remember my words in the spirit in which they were meant, rather than the... admittedly coarse manner in which I voiced them." 

He seemed relieved too— if only because the conversation was ending. "The past few weeks have been a very trying time. It would be unjust of me to interpret an expression of stress and... righteous indignation as somehow malicious." Then he hesitated again. "I am grateful for your words." 

"Good." She checked and corrected her posture. "I am glad to hear it. And I thank you for your patience in indulging my curiosity."

"I hope I answered your questions to your satisfaction."

"You did indeed. I bid you goodnight, Padawan Kenobi." 

A bow. "Your Majesty." 

With that she turned and swept out of the garden, Sabé close behind... and as they walked the battle-scarred halls of the palace, a plan began to take shape in her mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to 'The Rose That Grew From Concrete,' a poem by Tupac Shakur. Usually I wouldn't point that out explicitly, but I'm always surprised at how many people haven't read it-- if you haven't, you really should. 
> 
> I intend to turn this into series that will gradually diverge more and more from canon as a result of this conversation. We'll see how far I actually get.


End file.
